


Just off the Highway

by DarthSuki



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal Sex, Cecil Is Not Described, DFAB reader, DMAB Reader, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Love at First Sight, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Podfic Available, Protective Cecil, Reader-Insert, Road Trips, Shower Sex, Smut, Surprise Kissing, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Vaginal Sex, there are two versions of the smutty chapter yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-09 00:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17396285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: You are coming home from a road trip, having spent hours in the car driving down the long, boring road. It's been a long time since you've seen a gas station and your car is getting low--but luckily, there seems to be a town coming up called Night Vale. Maybe you'll even be able to find a hotel there to stay the night--listening to the radio with this silly, confusing but endearing host named Cecil has been really soothing to you.Maybe, when you figure out that there's no hotels that you can stay at, this very radio host offers to let you stay the night at his place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently testing out making podfics available with all of my longer works. If you are interested in listening to a podfic version of the first chapter of this fic, [you can listen to and download it here!](https://www.dropbox.com/s/w0qabapfurbib5o/Just%20Off%20the%20Highway.mp3)

_It’s okay_ , you had told yourself.  _Just a little bit longer, there’ll be a gas station off the highway soon._ With the gas reading dangerously low on your dashboard, it was all you do to try and soothe the nerves spiking out into your thoughts and leaving your hands frozen with worry over the steering wheel. 

The last gas station was hours ago and, honestly, you hadn’t seen one since then. It had been nothing but mindless roadway, the sun slowly falling beneath the horizon behind you and making you wonder what you would do if your gas tank ran empty while on the road.

There was no cell service, no rest stops and, most concerningly, no other cars on the road around you.

it had been almost an hour since you stopped listening to your music–the energy in the rhythm and tone only worsened your anxiety, the energy fueling your fear that you’ll be lost out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by desert scrubland. 

Turning off the stereo would have been the smartest option–anything to conserve what little gas you had–but you instead opted for something softer, something that still filled the air with noise but didn’t leave your brain with more energy than it could already handle.

Radio seemed to be the answer, though you weren’t sure why you assumed there’d be an active station anywhere within a couple hundred miles. Maybe it was the nerves. Maybe it was the fear.

Either way, you turned the knob on the control, flipping through white noise until eventually coming to a station that sounded clear–it was the only station you could find.

It didn’t take more than a breath of time before a voice, deep and smooth and curiously alluring from the first word, spilled from the speakers of your car.

“Hello, listeners,” The voice began. “As an update to our previous story: Old Woman Josie says that she no longer is looking for ancient heavenly relics. She says that, just after announcing it, she found a box of them in the attic of her home.”

The wording felt a little jarring, though you accounted it to the fact that you had just tuned in rather suddenly. The host’s voice was soft in a way, soothing and smooth and catching all the words in just the right volume that it was easy to follow.

So you continued to listen.

“Now, Josie says that she has several relics to spare! If you are someone interested in owning an unspecified and very ancient, heavenly relic, make sure you visit her home out by the Car Lot, as Josie will otherwise be giving them to her tall, winged, legally-not-angel friends.”

Were you listening to a story? It came off that way at least, things not making enough sense to understand, though the host spoke well enough that it almost didn’t matter. 

Your attention settled onto the words spilling sweetly from the speakers, letting the sound muffle the feelings of anxiety still running senselessly through you every time your eyes glanced at the gas reading on the dashboard.

So dangerously close to being empty; you were practically running on fumes.

But fate must have been shining down upon you in that moment, because as soon as you glance up towards the road again, you see it:

A sign for an exit, promising a place to stop for gas and even eat. It was only another mile down the highway, leading to a town called Night Vale.

You don’t remember seeing a city named that anywhere along your route, but hell if you were going to argue against finding a gas station in your current state.

* * *

When you get to the supposed gas station, all is eerily quiet. You’ve turned off the radio so you can concentrate on the task at hand, hoping almost desperately to locate the sign of the unfamiliar gas station. Fuel’N’Go is not a name you recognize, you simply assume it’s something local.

There’s something about the town that unsettles you almost immediately. It’s not a feeling of fear, so to speak, but something…unnatural. Surreal. It’s as if you’ve combined the feeling ‘being the only person at an airport terminal at 3 am’ with ‘small town intimacy’, leaving you at a loss for whether to be scared about getting jumped in the dark or happy that you’ve at least found somewhere to stop and fuel up.

You glance to the clock at the center of your dashboard, beside all the stereo buttons–it’s getting pretty late, and if there’s a hotel near the gas station it might be useful to get a room so you can sleep and continue your journey the next mourning.

After what feels like an eternity, you find the gas station.

Or, er. You assume it’s the gas station.

There’s no sign and no main building; it’s just a small collection of stalls. You’d think it’s completely abandoned if not for the flashing red numbers on the side of the stall, advertising the current price of fuel.

You pull in, deciding that you’ve taken enough risks in the last few hours, and get out of your vehicle. After stepping around to find the screen and the hose on the side of the stall, you find instead….nothing? Absolutely nothing, it’s a flat shape, color dark against the night backdrop–especially since there are so few lights around you to keep much of anything visible.

Legs circle you around the stalls, then again, and then a third time. They  _seem_  to be fully-functioning stalls for dispensing gas, but there simply isn’t any way to get the gas or to even pay for it–it leaves you unnerved, a little moreso for the odd, quiet town around you.

“You have to give it a few hours,” says a sudden voice. “This station is a bit slower than the others, but it has the best prices.”

Like lightning, you spin around, eyes wide and heart stopping for the time it takes to find the owner of the voice in your sight. You didn’t hear anyone coming, didn’t hear anyone at all and–and why does that voice sound familiar?

The man is several paces away, leaning against the corner of the nearest building, one of many that look perhaps like an apartment complex of some sort. His appearance is hard to describe. Hair and eyes and skin and such, but it’s his voice that catches your attention the most.

“…You’re the guy on the radio?”

It seems like an odd question to ask a complete stranger in an equally strange town, but in this moment it feels almost natural. Natural in the center of a moment that is entirely unnatural.

The man perks visibly at the question.

“Oh! Yes I am; Cecil Palmer, radio host for the Night Vale Community Radio station.” The man offers you a smile and, despite the situation you can’t help but feel a bit calmed by it, by the sound of his words that are just as soothing and soft as what they sounded like on the radio.

He looks at you for a moment, then towards your car.

“Not from around here?” He finally asks, waiting for you to nod slowly before continuing. “Well, like I said, I’m afraid it’s going to take a couple hours for your car to get gassed up–it’s always so much slower at night, but the beings in the next dimension over are rather hard-pressed for employees so I can’t really blame them.”

You blink. You hadn’t known what would come from the man’s lips, but those words still pull you for a loop around your own brain trying to follow the odd logic.

It doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t  _have_  to make sense because this man sounds so soothing and sweet–that smile of his is charming.

“I…uh…” but it also leaves you at a loss for words, trying not to look into his eyes for too long when a soft heat fills your cheeks. “Is there a hotel nearby? I’ve been driving all day and I’d really like to stretch my legs and have an actual bed to sleep on.”

“Not a single hotel in walking distance!” The man says, almost too cheerfully, holding his hands out for a moment as if it would soften the way the words made your heart sink a little bit. “But, if you like, my apartment is just around the corner; I have an extra bed you can use for the night, and you’ll be right next to where your car is.”

You look at him for a few moments. Then at your car. Your thoughts are the sound of a desert wind, haunting and soft and unreadable. You wish you could have said you were smart or clever or even feeling a thread of danger in the moment with this strange man in this strange town, but instead all you could think about is how soft his voice is. How charming his smile looks. 

How his eyes glitter with honesty, the entire surreal air of the town around you starting to sink into your bones and thoughts and leaving you only to turn back to him and speak, softly,

“That’s very kind, Cecil, thank you.”

The man’s smile only grew brighter, more endearing.

“Do you need help getting anything out of your car? The next-dimensional beings won’t touch anything, I’ve used this gas station for years and can vouch for their 5-star-rating on Yelp.”

Barely any of his words made an ounce of sense, but the gesture was more than enough to reinvigorate the gentle heat in your face, making your eyes flicker down to the asphalt beneath your feet.

“I have one bit of luggage that’s rather heavy–do you live on the second floor?”

“Oh no,” he says, one hand gently swiping at the air as if pushing away the notion. “I’m on the first floor, but I can help you carry it!’

Five minutes later saw you and the man–Cecil Palmer–walking down only a couple turns of sidewalks. Your luggage is settled on rolling-wheels, but he still offered to take it for you, leaving the gentle hum of the wheels on the pavement filling the background air between you.

“So where are you from?” Cecil asks, tone curious. “I saw your licence plate and I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that place before.”

He tries in pronouncing the state, but the syllables are all wrong. It sounds like he doesn’t even recognize it.

You correct him, and Cecil tries again with a sour look on his features.

“Are you sure that’s how it’s pronounced?”

It must be a joke, so you giggle and simply wave it off, assuring him that you know how your own home state is pronounced.

He doesn’t continue the conversation, as the two of you come up to what you assume is the front door to his apartment. He fiddles with a set of keys for a few moments before unlocking it, opening the door and letting you inside.

“Make yourself at home,” The man says before sheepishly adding. “Please don’t mind the mess, okay? I don’t get people around all that often.”

Through the front door and a few steps down the main hall, you’re not quite sure what mess he’s even talking about. A glance to the living room is the sight of what you’d only call average-looking. A couch, an arm chair, a TV with a stand, a coffee table. Even a glance to the kitchen, which adjoined it, looks just as normal. 

Maybe he’s just an overly-organized man, you figure, finding that fact among everything else just as endearing about him. He walks you through his apartment and towards an empty guest room. It’s just as clean and organized as what you’ve seen of the rest of his home.

“Are you traveling all alone?” Cecil finally asks as he lays the luggage bag over the narrow bed. 

The question would have sounded dangerous coming from literally anyone else, but from Cecil it sounds honest, a genuine concern for your safety with how his tone so gently hugs his words–how his eyes look at you with care.

You try not to feel or look flushed.

“Unfortunately, yeah,” You say, taking a seat on the bed after a moment, slipping off your shoes. “Just how it worked out, you know? Times like this really make me wish I had a friend to go along with me.”

“Or a romantic partner?”

Another weird question from such a strange man. You offer him yet another blink in momentary confusion. Cecil seems to realize this at least, his hands quickly coming up once more in a show of non-threatening waves.

“I’m sorry! I just didn’t want to assume anything. Boyfriend, girlfriend, genderless creature of another state of transcendence–it means all the same to us here in Night Vale.”

The way he says it, the casual nature and nonchalant look in his face--it means something sweet. Honestly, it makes you giggle, a hand up to briefly hide your mouth when the sound spills from your lips.

“It’s okay,” You say at last, a soft, almost teasing note working into your words. “I...don’t have anyone like that, actually. But I like people.”

“People as in just men or just women, or....?”

You shrug. “Just as in people, don’t worry about anything more specific than that. If someone’s cute, then they’re cute--you know?”

Cecil’s smile looks amused, understanding in a way.

“I understand what you mean,” he says at last, before finally dropping the odd topic of conversation without much of a warning. “If you need, the bathroom is just down the hall to the left--second door, not the first; don’t open that door for any reason no matter what whispers you hear from it.”

Literally everything about this man should be cause for concern, should raise a million red flags--but he doesn’t. He, like this town, simply doesn’t.

“I appreciate the warning.”

You slowly get to your feet and offer Cecil a smile of your own, hands on your hips and the thought of a nice, hot shower fervently in your mind. Whether he is able to pick it up or not, he leaves the room with a soft reminder that you can find him in the kitchen if needed--he was in the middle of making dinner when he thought to take a walk outside and, subsequently, found you.

You’re not sure how that makes sense, suddenly leaving the apartment and conveniently finding someone needing a place to stay, but it makes about as much sense as everything else in the town so you don’t even bother to question it.

Besides, the prospect of a hot shower is too nice to pass up.


	2. Chapter 2

When the hot water hits your skin, it’s as if everything seems to slip away. Your worries, your concerns, your very thoughts roll off among the drops of water and leave nothing more than peace and serenity humming in the back of your mind. It’s simply you and the near-burning heat of the shower, rivulets falling down your skin.

You wonder if it’s rude to take advantage of Cecil’s kindness by hogging up too much hot water. It’s only a vague worry, not one that has all that much weight, if only because you can’t remember the last time that you felt so genuinely at peace. Could it be the shower itself? The town? The time at night? There’s certainly something to be said about the air itself around you, the near-literal aura that Night Vale seems to have hovering over it.

And then, on top of it all, there’s Cecil himself. A strange man, quirky in his mannerisms and the things he speaks about, but there’s already something so charming that you can find tucked away in those same words--something...sweet. Genuine.

The bar of soap isn’t too hard to find. You suds up a washcloth and start rubbing it over your skin, watching the way the bubbles cling to your skin. The motions are slow and careful, leaving your mind open to ponder on things. Lots of things.

There’s something about the man that you like, but there’s also something equally curious at the same time--you remember the way he sounded on the radio while you were driving into town, all soft and alluring, his very voice soothing the nerves that would have otherwise sent you into a panic attack. 

It’s...a miracle that you were able to make it to Night Vale. With your gas tank nearly empty it’s a miracle you got there, a miracle Cecil found you and yet a miracle still that he had the kindness to offer his apartment for you to stay the night.

As your hands moved the washrag over your body, you found yourself thinking more and more about the way his very self seemed magnetized to you, like you wanted to be near him, hear him,  _ see _ him. You had known the man for all but an hour but it’s if your heart has known him for years, wanting all the intimacy that such a relationship has in ample amounts.

You already feel so comfortable around him, sharing his space and his bathroom and his shower and-

The sound of a door opening alerts you almost instantly.

“Hey, are you hungry?” It’s Cecil’s voice (as if it could be anyone else), and the sound itself calms you. “I made some sandwiches--figured you might want something from all the driving you’ve done today.”

The words are so perfectly, wonderfully domestic.

“Yeah uh, I am pretty hungry,” You say in return, gently peaking your face from behind the endearingly, but absurdly colored shower curtain. “I hope I’m not taking too long. Don’t want to use up all your hot water.”

You see Cecil’s expression from the half-open door soften, a smile on his lips.

“I’ve already done all the ritual chanting I need for this month’s hot water, so don’t worry about it!”

He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but the words are so off the wall, so surreal that you stare at him for a few moments, trying to parse if it’s all a joke or not. The man merely continues standing there at the door, never once slipping up on what could have been just a joke, a pull of the leg.

“Ritual...chanting…?” The words finally tumble awkwardly from your mouth. 

“Of course! It’s the only currency my complex puts value in.”

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s not entirely awkward. There’s a little bit of nervousness about it, but….it’s oddly comfortable, a surreal combination of familiarity and newness that you can’t settle perfectly against your thoughts.

A moment passes, your eyes flick down to the floor, then back up to the man at the doorway.

“You can...sit on the toilet if you want to talk for a bit, I...wouldn’t mind that much.”

There’s just something about his presence that delights you. You can feel the change in the air from when you were alone in the shower, a subtle but almost addicting warmth. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before and, honestly, you can’t find a thread of caution in your brain--it’s like this man has somehow worked past it all.

It’s obvious that Cecil had been waiting for your permission, as he quickly moves his way to the closed-seat toilet and sits himself down with a smile on his face. There’s something behind the smile, something enigmatic, but it’s not anything malicious--you can only guess at what’s hiding behind those eyes of his.

“So, you heard me on the radio while you were on the road?”

A laugh erupts from your mouth before you can stop it--Cecil’s expresion is just so genuine, so sparked with curiosity that it almost catches you off-guard. You roll the question around in your head as you move back into the shower, washrag back and rubbing sudsy bubbles across your skin.

“I did, actually.”

“What did you think of it?”

You think back to when you were on the highway all but an hour or so before.

“I think it was funny,” you start to say, eyes searching for a shampoo you could use for your hair. “I really loved the bit about those heavenly relics and Josie.”

“ _ Old Woman _ Josie,” Cecil gently corrects, emphasis given to the first two words.

“Is that part of her name or something?”

“Sometimes!” There’s a delight in his voice, perhaps from simply being able to explain it to you. “Names are  _ very _ important here in Night Vale, even the parts of names that aren’t really names.”

You find a small bottle of nondescript shampoo, it’s labeling somewhat generic but identifiable as a shampoo of some sort. You squirt a little into the palm of your hand and start lathering it up into your hair.

“So some people have titles around here?” 

You hear Cecil gently shift from where he sits beside the shower, hidden from view by the shower curtain, though his shadow is clear enough through it to see how he crosses one leg over the other.

“I suppose that’s a word for it,” he muses gently. “Never thought about it like that. A title? I just always saw it as part of their name--you know, like how someone’s ear is part of their face, but not  _ really _ part of it.”

The words, still weird and surreal, are quite endearing. You take in a gentle breath of the vapor-warmed air and feel a bit of brazenness touch your words as you tease,

“What would you say would be part of my sometimes-name title?”

“I don’t know,” Cecil’s tone shifts playfully. “That’s usually reserved for residents, intentionally living here or otherwise.”

He shifts his body again, and you reach once more for the bar of soap.

“I think I’d probably say you are...the Beautiful, Lovely Outsider.”

Your fingers find the soap just as Cecil speaks, but when you hear the soft, delicate way he says  _ beautiful outsider _ you can’t help but tighten your grip--it sends the bar of soap flying, sliding out of your hand and tumbling to the floor of the shower, and in a stunning display of Murphy’s Law, you suddenly find yourself losing your footing when you accidentally step on the slippery bit of chaos in soap form.

It all happens in the span of a heartbeat. You feel yourself start tumbling down, feel your hands scrabble for purchase on anything to grab onto. There are a million thoughts suddenly running through your mind and not a single one of them helps as you brace for the pain of impact on the hard bathtub floor.

Your eyes instinctively shut tight.

But you never feel the pain of the fall, the crack of your head against the tiled wall or the promise of bruising along your hips and back. You don’t feel any of that, but instead the warm pressure of arms wrapped gingerly around you. After a breath your eyes blink open, taking in Cecil’s face hovering over yours. He’s leaning into the shower, looking down at you with a soft concern in his eyes, his upper-half soaked from the still-running shower.

The two of you freeze as your eyes lock together, as if both of you are unsure how to speak or proceed. The fact that you are wet and naked and clutched in this handsome man’s strong arms certainly doesn’t get past your thoughts--if anything, they work together in a flush of heat that move over your cheeks and ears. Your hands are clenched to the front of his shirt, the motion instinctive, and you don’t make the motion to remove them.

“Th-...Thank you,” is all you can breathe out, biting your lower lip when you take in how alluring Cecil looks, his hair wet and his face so close, almost close enough to kiss.

If you had thought he radiated a weird sort of comfort, the feeling now is tenfold, exacerbated by the physical proximity between both of you.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice soft and deep and sweet all at the same time. “I uh. Well. This is a situation.”

He either doesn’t realize how obvious the gesture is or simply doesn’t care, but Cecil’s eyes gently shift down your body, taking in naked skin and curves and lines and  _ everything;  _ but you’re just as bad, since you don’t speak or move to stop him. If anything your hands clench tighter to his wet shirt, heart pounding in your chest as his gaze almost has a physical, toying quality to it.

“It...certainly is,” you agree softly, biting your lower lip and letting the man carefully shift your body so you’re standing on your own two feet again.

The shower curtains had been ripped from the sudden assistance, Cecil having tugged them away roughly enough that half of the curtain is off the plastic rings around the shower rod. The shower is still going, hot water still pouring down your body and seeping farther into Cecil’s clothes.

You swallow down words of embarrassment as you instead let yourself revel in this man’s strength, in the way his hands still press against your bare skin, how his chest is almost against your own, how his very presence calms you. How his voice makes your heart sing.

Feelings of lust and want and  _ intimacy _ pool in your belly as you try to wrap your brain around it all. The air still hangs with the sense of all things surreal, but you find yourself not caring as much as you did just a short while before because something about the oddity in itself feels so  _ comfortable. _ It feels safe. 

It feels like home. 

No.

Cecil is the one that feels like home. It’s as if you’re meant to be there, to stand in his arms and stare into his eyes. But there’s only one thing missing, like a puzzle nearly completed or a prophecy yet fulfilled--

\--so that’s when you kiss him.

It’s not a lustful kiss, but it certainly isn’t a chaste one either. It’s not a kiss of fire of one-night passions, but it isn’t the kiss of new couples. It’s something in between the two extremes, something comfortable and familiar, a kiss that knows the other in a way only a lover can truly know them. The feeling is familiar--it’s as if you have known him for years, years yet spent with him, years yet knowing him and taking in all of his quirks and habits.

Cecil doesn’t pull from the kiss. His mouth moves against yours in a gentle dance, as if curious, and he reaches up a hand to press his palm gingerly against the side of your face.

Even as the kiss finally breaks, you can feel his lips shift, caress across your cheek before he eventually pulls himself back so that his eyes can find yours again.

“...I was wondering when you would finally do that,” he says, voice barely loud enough to hear over the soft noise of the still-running shower. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. It’s nice to finally meet my mate in person.”

The words shouldn’t make sense, what Cecil is saying shouldn’t make any sense at all--and yet it does. Despite it all his soft words feel sweet, like the rushed whispers of two lovers seeing each other again after being apart, like he’s seen this all happen already, like he’s expected this.

Your mind may not understand the words or these feelings, but your heart has already accepted them, filtered them, put them up on the shelf to admire and collect and to love.

“Am I dreaming?” You finally say, glancing down the dip of Cecil’s throat, half a thought to putting your lips to his pulse and sucking a lovely mark there.

The man chuckles and holds you a little tighter.

“You’re not dreaming,” he takes in a slow, careful breath. “Not this time at least.”

The two of you stand there for a few moments in that same warm, not-quite-awkward silence as before, at least until you have the sense to glance towards the knob of the shower, then to the curtains and finally back to Cecil.

“So…” Your tongue gently traced your lips, the warmth of the kiss still lingering. “Would you...like to join me in here?”

You feel Cecil’s hands press a little harder as he shifts, carefully putting his palms to your hips and gauging the situation himself.

“Let me fix the curtains and get these wet clothes off,” he starts, tone playful and familiar in all the ways your heart has been searching for, the puzzle finally complete. “And then I’d love to join you in there.”


	3. DMAB Version

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the DMAB (designated male at birth) version of this chapter, which includes such descriptions of the readers sexy bits. If you're looking for the DFAB (designated female at birth) version, it's the next chapter--just skip ahead, there's no other differences in them!

Luckily enough for you, it doesn’t take very long to get a new shower curtain put up. You do have to stand for a couple minutes in the shower itself with the water turned off and your body still soaking wet and slightly cold, but Cecil doesn’t leave the air empty between the two of you as he rummages through the cabinet in search of a backup shower curtain.

“I saw you from the moment you turned on your radio,” The man almost croons, like a lovesick schoolboy. “Like everything I saw in my prophetic dreams and day-old coffee grinds; though you looked so frightened.”

“Admittedly I was running on like, next to no gas in my car,” you remind him, only vaguely recognizing the odd omnipotence his words seem to suggest. “I thought I was going to be stranded in the middle of the desert.”

Cecil lets out a soft huff, pulling out a folded lump of shiny plastic, most likely the new shower curtain.

“I would have certainly not let that happen, the only place the endless universe would have you stranded is right here in Night Vale--the vast desert surrounding the town doesn’t quite count.”

He starts to unfold the shower curtain.

“I would have walked out there myself anyway to get you if it did.”

Despite the slight red flag in the man’s words, possessive and dark in only the mildest of sense, you feel rather touched by it. It’s more than just the sound of his voice now, sonorous and perfect, it’s his eyes and his smile and his mere  _ presence _ beside you that leave you feeling found and at home despite having never been to Night Vale before.

Or at least…

You gently wrap your arms tighter around your body to conserve what little heat your skin still holds.

“You said something about this not being a dream, but you made it sound like it’s happened before.” The words are gentle, holding a question you’re not quite sure how to ask with your mind so muddled with trying to categorize what is real and what is not, what makes sense and what is enigma.

“Yeah, it has,” Cecil says, stepping closer so he can start hooking the curtain onto the metal shower rings. 

It takes a moment of waiting before you realize he’s not going to elaborate on the answer without a little bit of prodding. In this case it’s slightly literal, your eyes staring at the man until he catches them, mind suddenly flickering that perhaps you  _ don’t _ know entirely what he’s referring to and should therefore explain, if at least a little.

“Do you not remember having any strange dreams over the last few years?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that,” You say warily, though not without a little bit of humor. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not talking about the dreams where I’m naked in school and being chased by horses.”

“By  _ horses _ ?” Cecil asks suddenly, then enigmatically mutters under his breath, “-haven’t heard that combination of foretelling symbolism in years.”

He quickly throws himself out from whatever train has captured his thoughts, looking at you with a new clarity in his eyes and switches to clarify his question. 

It’s only then, upon the description and words and feelings that you realize that you understand  _ exactly _ what dreams he’s talking about. You can remember them faintly, like whisper in your ear.

_ Dreams of darkness. Dreams of being surrounded by nothing, but everything at the same time; dreams of looking out over the very universe itself and watching time flow by like a river, only to realize that you are not the only one standing there.  _

_ You look to the side to catch a shape, indistinct and familiar in the same breath there’s a color to their form and a feeling to their presence that you can’t quite describe or understand, but you know at least that it is soft and friendly and familiar. You feel a hand gently find yours, fingers interlocked, joined in a way that transcends physical form and the fragile forces of your perceived universe. _

The memory sits in your mind for a while. By the time that you come back to the present moment, Cecil is finished putting up the shower curtain and has already undressed. He steps into the shower and turns the knob, once more leaving you washed in the warm, soft spray of water again.

And then, suddenly at least to your perception of time and space and meaning, the two of you are just standing there at arms length from one another. It’s a far different air from what it had been just minutes before, when Cecil had you pressed against his chest and securely in his arms, a momentary reaction that had catalyzed all of this to happen afterwards.

It’s not a bad feeling, per say, just….one you’re not used to.

It’s not as if you make it a regular occurance to stay in a stranger’s apartment in a strange town and find yourself so woefully attracted to him in more ways than should be physically possible--so it’s safe to say the experience is rather new. 

It must feel the same way to Cecil, as his eyes are half-lidded, though glimmering in genuine, but nervous excitement. His hands lay almost awkwardly at his sides, as if he’s waiting for something.

Waiting for permission.

And there’s something about that gesture, or lack thereof, that really catches your attention. It draws you out of your mind and back into the moment, into the reality surrounding you. It’s as if, in that very breath, that very visage of Cecil standing there and waiting for your permission--it’s like the final puzzle piece settles into place.

Feelings of calm gently fall over your thoughts and you, so carefully, close the gap between your bodies and press another kiss to the man’s waiting lips.

There’s a discernible shift in the air as your hands find his skin, lay over his shoulders and arms eventually wrap around his neck. Though there is still warmth and comfort hanging in the gaze of your eyes, there is something new and exciting: hunger. Need. Want.

One moment you and Cecil are sharing a chaste kiss beneath the spray of the shower, and the next you’re pressed back and gently manhandled off your feet and into his arms. There’s a mild shock of cold tiles against your shoulder blades though it doesn’t distract you from moving the way Cecil wants--your legs around his waist and grinding your hips to his.

The man rumbles with a groan that barely cuts through the white noise of falling water.

“This okay?” 

The words themselves are a bit hard to make out when his mouth is otherwise against your throat, nipping at sensitive skin.

“Yeah.” 

The answer is simple and short, little more than a hiss; you can hardly keep your thoughts together long enough to offer anything longer than that. You’re already surrounded by him, by warm familiarity that you couldn’t quite put a finger on until now--like you’re meant to be here.

For a few minutes, you delight yourself simply on the feeling of Cecil’s mouth on your throat and his hands on your hips, holding you surprisingly still despite the fact that his cock is plenty hard against your own--all it would take is just a gentle wiggle of your hips and-

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Cecil curses, trying to muffle the word with teeth against your shoulder. “Fuck,  _ fuuuck _ .”

A shiver of arousal slips down your spine from how the man’s voice wraps around the word, making it sound so much filthier when it’s in the deep tone you’ve so quickly come to associate him with. It feels almost  _ earned _ to spill from Cecil’s lips, only encouraging you to move your hips harder, rut your cock against his until there’s a discernible rhythm to the needy movement.

“You’re making it very hard to go  _ slowly _ .” 

You feel the words vibrate against your shoulder and then mischief sneak in your mind.

“Who says I want to go slowly?” You use the leverage of your legs around Cecil’s body to tug and keep him against you, bodies flush from chest to hip. “Maybe I want you to fuck me  _ now. _ ”

The pressure and heat, combined with the water, the cold tiles--it all makes a moan work up your throat, make you start to wonder more about what Cecil would feel like  _ inside you _ \--is he normally a gentle lover? Or is this merely an exception for the situation at hand?

You hear Cecil chuckle against your skin regardless, feel his fingers press harder into the gentle curve of your hips.

“And here I was being considerate of your stamina.”

The words and his voice is so playful, so genuinely light-hearted--it brings a sense of ease into the moment, to break up the weight of what could so easily just be a one-night stand, a forgotten night between the two of you (even though you know in the back of your mind that’s not true). Cecil finally moves in tandem with you, his hips rolling in gentle motions, meeting each thrust so that both of you are pressing the hard shapes of your need together in a delicious moment of simple euphoria.

“My stamina?” You ask, expression briefly surprised, if only by the unspoken measure behind his words of what seemed to be genuine concern for you. “You don’t need to worry about that--I’ll keep going as long as you can, big boy.”

Your eyes meet with Cecil’s after the last word leaves you, something unspoken and mysterious hiding within that look of his. It’s a glimmer, a flicker of  _ something _ you can’t place, something that makes you wonder if there’s something wrong to what you’ve said. 

But the moment passes quickly, if only because Cecil breaks the locked gaze by dipping his face to your throat again and pressing surprisingly-gentle kisses across your skin.

“It’s bad to make promises you can’t keep.”

You only half-hear them, losing focus beyond the word ‘promises’ because you suddenly feel one of Cecil’s hands coming down between your bodies, gently sneaking between the press of your chests and hips--fingers eventually wrap around both of you in a firm, assured grip, and stroking in such a measured way that the gesture alone is enough to make you lose your thoughts for several frantic heartbeats.

“C-Cecil!” 

The sound is only barely a name, twisted up inside of a moan that you can’t muffle fast enough.

Cecil’s hand moves in tandem with his hips, rising and falling so evenly that it’s difficult to parse all the little details of sensation moving through your head. There’s the thick fog of the shower, the heat of your bodies, the tickle of lips on your shoulder and the delicious, rolling pleasure of his cock against your own, practically rutting up against one another like eager beasts in a mindless need for pleasure.

It honestly doesn’t take him more than a few minutes to work an orgasm from you. Between the kiss and the heat of your bodies, you’ve been teetering happily on the edge since the moment Cecil lifted you into his arms.

Though you had joked about not wanting to take things slow, there was something more to be desired in the moment than but a quick jacking-off in the shower. It seemed outright illegal not to take the opportunity to the fullest and most filthy, especially with how Cecil looks at you, eyes darkened with want to a degree you can scarcely understand.

It doesn’t matter though--you cum with a shout, scratching your fingers against the other’s back and feeling yourself spill over Cecil’s hand. The moment didn’t last for more than a few breaths, gasping and sharp, and left you feeling flushed and only wanting  _ more _ . 

You search for Cecil's eyes and, true to his jesting a few minutes before, there’s a look of hunger in them. Though the two of you are still parsing through the after-effects of orgasm it's not subtle so see that he is nowhere near being finished with you.

Oh, not even close.

* * *

The water starts to run cold by the time the two of you think to leave the no-longer-comfort of the shower. Though the spray is barely lukewarm, it’s nice to rinse yourself off once more before finally stepping out, legs still wobbly from your momentary, orgasmic high but a few minutes before. The water is shut off without much of a thought, Cecil barely giving you the moment to catch your own thoughts before he’s pressed up behind you, hands on your hips and lips to the shell of your ear.

He whispers something, but you don’t have the time to figure it out before his hands are suddenly manhandling you around to face him. He’s surprisingly strong, able to lift you without so much as a scoff--you’re little more than a featherweight to him.

Your legs wind themselves around his waist again on near-instinct.

“Getting tired?” He asks, far to composed for a man who’s looking at you like he is.

Eyes narrow cautiously at him, not wanting to play too far into his little game without understanding what he’s hiding behind that look of his.

“Not yet,” is what you eventually say, more of a sigh when he presses his lips to your throat between the words. “Hng, Cecil,  _ more _ .”

Maybe he chuckles, or maybe he even says something to tease you--it’s uncertain when the words and noise is otherwise lost between his lips and your skin. Cecil’s body shifts as he starts to walk out of the room, leaving you to cling to him in an only mild fear for being dropped. His lips seem to know exactly where to press, to kiss, if only to pull out all the softest noises from you.

And then he stops. Not the kissing, but the movement, pausing right in the middle of the hallway. Before you can find the will to question it, Cecil presses you back against the opposite wall, letting it take some of your weight--you don’t have to hold as tightly around his shoulders.

When Cecil pulls his face back enough to look at you, that little gleam is back in his eyes. It’s gotten darker, more  _ dangerous _ than before--and his voice echoes the look.

“There’s something I want to do,” the man says, hands resting just under your ass as if encouraging your legs to untangle from his waist. 

You blink, eyes half-lidded, but don’t offer any resistance as Cecil starts to slide down your body. You’re not quite sure how much strength it takes to do so, but he moves in such a way that your legs end up dangling over his shoulders and the wall behind you keeping you upright as you lean back against it.

It takes a moment for the intimacy of the position to filter, a moment where Cecil’s lips press against one of your inner thighs and his breath--so very warm--ghosts over your cock.

You can’t do much but wiggle in surprise, largely due to the fact that his hands are on your hips once more and stilling any movement you can try to make.

And then his eyes gleam back up at you. Another kiss to your skin, another exhale of hot breath against sensitive nerves--you can practically feel yourself shivering down to your toes from the power in his gaze.

“I wonder what you taste like?” Cecil muses, as if to himself for a moment. “Because you certainly look _ beautiful _ from where I’m at right now.”

Heat starts to bloom over your face as he laughs in that gentle way of his, amused perhaps at your reaction. You can’t help any of it. You can’t help the way his smile makes you feel so vulnerable and safe, how every touch makes you feel warm and--

Oh, how his mouth feels on you.

Gods above, how Cecil’s mouth moves on you.

There’s a certain amount of pleasure that can be had in dragging it out, but Cecil seems to rush through it all, going beyond teasing kisses or a tongue tracing up the shaft and instead favoring something far more  _ direct _ .

He swallows you down in one smooth, careful motion. The sudden sensations of heat around your cock all but choked any words from your mind, leaving you only to gasp out noises with little coherence attached to them. A sound like Cecil’s name hung from many of them while your hands scrambled forward, reaching out to grab fistfuls of his hair as best they can.

Anchoring you to him.

There’s no mercy in Cecil’s motions; you feel the tight, wet suction of his mouth slide down your cock, taking in almost every inch with an almost worrying level of ease. You can feel his tongue pressing against the underside of the shaft, rubbing against all the right places--

And then he starts to move, pull his face back only to move it forward, over and over again in a filthy rhythm.

“C-Cecil!” the word feels more like a sob from your stricken voice. Your back arches and your hips shift forward, though barely enough to change anything--Cecil’s hands still press firm over your hips to keep you still.

One moment bleeds into the next, pleasure muddling everything together until all you can think about is the man’s hot mouth wrapped around you, your cock getting deeper and deeper down his throat. You can almost feel Cecil humming, soft vibrations of not-quite words on his tongue that presses against the underside of your cock--

Another moan escapes from between your lips as the edge of a second orgasm appears on your mind’s horizon. It surges like a wave, getting closer and closer with every exhale, every arch of your back and every careful, measured movement of Cecil’s mouth.

You look down, expression tense as your lips try to form a warning.

“I’m about to-” your words don’t work, breaking off into a moan when he sucks  _ hard _ around you, leaving your body shaking and stars behind your eyes. “Fuck--Cece--I’m gonna c-cu-”

The last of your warning is lost as the wave of pleasure finally crashes forward, tossing you over the mental cliff into the waiting sea of euphoria overtakes you. There’s no words to be heard from your lips, only moans and sobs of need--sobs that get only louder when you realize that Cecil’s mouth is still on you, still around you, drinking down all your body is keen to spill.

And that is outright hot.

Though in the end it only lasted perhaps a dozen seconds at most, it felt like an eternity, a pleasurable eternity of  _ heat _ and  _ wet _ and a million other things, and all you can do is tug at Cecil’s hair and let your legs dangle uselessly over his shoulders, take every ounce, every shiver of pleasure that winds through your body.

* * *

Some minutes later, you and Cecil find yourselves in the kitchen. He has you on one of the countertops, the entire space so neatly cleaned outside of the pair of dishes sitting on the table in the connected dining room, the crumbs of sandwiches quickly forgotten for something to be cleaned in the morning.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” is Cecil’s lingering words, gentle despite the desperation in the air between you both. You feel them in your chest, settling so comfortably that it’s almost domestic, and can’t help but let the gesture fill you with heat as Cecil does with his fingers.

They are wet and slow and so fucking  _ measured _ , two of them slipping past the ring of muscle and drawing a soft whimper from your lips--lips that he all but captures against his own, swallowing up the noise with an almost needy passion.

It doesn’t take long for the digits to slip fully inside you, and even less time for a third to join the others--it’s such a perfect stretch, a perfect sensation of rough, calloused fingertips rubbing against your inner channel.

And still he kisses you, steals away your breath in loving, though possessive bite to your lip or the press of his tongue against your own. It’s sloppy and perfect in more ways than one, especially when you can feel the cold countertop beneath you, the flat side of a cabinet gently against the back of your head.

His other hand is around your cock again, grip firm and motion evenly-paced as he strokes from base to tip. Cecil, quite the observant one, seems to even have picked up all the little motions that draw out the the loudest moans. A little flick of his fingers against the underside of the head, a soft twist on the upstroke, a gentle squeeze around the shaft every once in a while.

Combined with the sinful things his fingers are managing to do inside you, you’re at a loss not just for words, but the concept of language as a whole.

Something that vaguely resembles Cecil’s name tries to work its way from your mouth, though its stopped continuously by your partner’s mouth still kissing you, muffled and happily drank with little more than a joyous hum in response.

Everything is spiralling. You feel like you can barely hold on and, honestly, you don’t even want to anymore--you hadn’t wanted to since the moment Cecil stepped into the shower with you. The two of you are simply two needy souls searching for union together, a level of utter completeness and exhaustion that only such a strenuous intimacy can bring.

It feels so  _ right _ to you, like you’re making up for so many lost years, so many lonely nights, so many half-forgotten dreams.

And then you orgasm for the third time that evening, spilling over Cecil’s hand and muscles rhythmically squeezing around his fingers--he milks out every little drop from you.

* * *

You barely made it to the bedroom before the two of you were eagerly clawing for round four. Literally. Cecil has you in his arms again, legs wrapped tight around his waist and arms around his neck.

“I need to  _ have _ you,” the man can barely say between each of the wet, needy kisses over your shoulder. “I want to be  _ inside _ of you right now.”

“Then do it,” is what you say, words unfiltered from the desperate thoughts rolling through your mind. “Just fuck me against the wall.”

Neither of you were going to argue about it, logic and reason and sense tossed completely out the window despite there being a perfectly good bed only a few steps away. You were equally happy not to question the level of upper-body strength that Cecil possesses, if only because he’s been able to carry you around with ease for at least the past hour between rooms and, admittedly, sex positions.

There’s little hesitation as Cecil presses you against the wall, hips shifting so he can press eagerly against your entrance. You shut your eyes in what must be instinct, but open them again when you don’t feel the satisfying stretch of a cock sliding inside you. 

Instead, when you open your eyes in curiosity, you find them met with Cecil’s own; those eyes that held such hunger and wonder and enigma--he looks at you as soft as a lover might. He looks you as wonder-filled as a lover  _ does _ . Your lover. Your mate.

“Look at me,” he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. “I want to see your face when I’m inside you.” He moves one of his hands from their spot on your hips, reaching up to delicately pull one of your arms away from where it lay over his shoulder; Cecil gently takes it, interlocking your fingers together with a soft smile on his face and even softer words on his lips.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

He slides inside you in all the span of a heartbeat. You’re already slick and open but there’s just something about the motion and the hands and the  _ words _ that make it feel like there’s so much  _ more _ going on--you can’t follow the man’s gentle command for long as pleasure all but scorches through your body and your head falls back against the wall. A sweet wail falls from your lips, Cecil’s own seeking out to kiss and lick at your sensitive pulsepoint.

“Don’t look away from me,” He says into your skin. “I want to  _ see _ my mate, my beautiful mate--” a moan cuts off his words, though their power and influence linger still on the air.

There’s something to his voice; it’s strong and comforting, but it holds a level of influence you can’t entirely place. Like the gentle aura you felt upon meeting him, like the comfort in the sound of his words on the radio not even a few hours before, you feel completely  _ surrounded _ by him.

Though you feel flushed with heat and layered over in tattered remains of shyness, your eyes finally fall to meet Cecil’s again, to see the pleasure behind that beautiful gaze and watch it ebb and flow and crash with every hard thrust of his hips against your own.

* * *

Somewhere in the fervor and heat the bed finally becomes a point of interest, another orgasm wracked from your bodies and minds tired enough that logic is able to peek through the lusty haze.

Cecil’s cock is still inside you even as you tumble onto the warm mattress, awash in the glow of orgasmic after-pleasure that dims more with every passing second. You have no idea how he can still be hard after all that, how he can still be gearing for another round, but you’re not about to complain when your head is swirling just as much with near-lovesick want for the man above you.

“God, I’m such a mess,” you laugh, glancing down at the sticky smears over your belly and chest. You can even  _ feel _ the delicious warmth inside you, slick and dirty and  _ perfect _ (a problem for you to deal with later). “We’re gonna have to take another shower after this.”

Cecil grins widely, almost pridefully at the words--maybe even at the actions to cause them. Is that a gleam of possessiveness in his eyes?

Fingers are still interlocked with his, both of your hands laying just beside your head. You glance over to look at them, how perfectly your hand matches against his, how the simple touch in the heat of passion had left your heart buzzing against your chest.

Your eyes don’t move from the sight of your joined hand with his, though you can’t help but grin in tired delight. 

“You weren’t kidding about the whole ‘stamina’ thing.”

“Of course not,” Cecil chides softly, as if waiting for you to really  _ get _ it this entire time. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated to go for longer than you can--I understand that human bodies are easily exhausted with these kinds of things and I didn’t want-”

Wait. Pause.

“ _ Human bodies _ ?” The question comes out curious and confused, but not inherently accusative. “What do you...mean by that? You uh, say that as if you’re not human yourself.”

Cecil blinks and meets your eyes as you turn back to look at him.

For several moments, there is simply silence. It’s not entirely  _ awkward _ , but it’s certainly telling--an answer in its own right even as you wait for the man above you to break out in laughter and explain the end of a little jest or joke. 

He doesn’t.

It’s not the first oddity you’ve come to hear or see or experience in Night Vale, and you haven’t even been in the town for a full 24 hours. But maybe it’s the soft heat in Cecil’s eyes, the shyness, the sudden way his gaze moves from yours, the shift in the air to something soft and vulnerable again, only made all the more intimate by the fact that both of you are still joined and your bodies are still buzzing for one last orgasm.

And in all of that, you find that you simply  _ don’t care _ . Cecil could say or show or do much of anything at this point and it simply wouldn’t matter--it wouldn’t change the fact that you still feel so safe and loved by this stranger of a man, feel so close to him in ways you could not yet explain or understand.

“Cecil,” you say softly, hoping to get his attention back on your face as you reach your free hand up to touch his cheek. 

When the man finally looks at you again, you honestly can’t help the tug at the corner of your lips--hunger and want smooth your thoughts over, forging words that sound at least ten times better than what you feared they’d come out like.

“You know,” your voice starts. “You’re really,  _ really _ good with a lot of things. Your hands, your mouth, your…” as if to emphasize, you wiggle your hips, gently rubbing that too-wonderful pressure against your inner channel. Both of you let out a soft moan in response to it. 

“...is there...any  _ other _ part of you that you’re good with?”

Cecil looks at at you, expression blank for all but a moment. Then his eyes open, his smile widens and you can see the slightest flash of teeth behind those perfect, soft lips of his.

“Oh, yes there is,” his voice dips so low that it sends a shiver of arousal through your body. His tone, his voice, it sounds almost  _ dangerous _ in a way, a little unchained from the restraint he had been showing before. “ _ Several _ other parts, in fact-

-and I was hoping to be able to use them on you.”

You don’t get the chance to ask for clarification or even properly respond to the absolutely  _ sinful _ tone that Cecil’s voice has fallen into. Barely a single breath is able to work its way into your lungs before, in the span of a blink, you feel a soft, sudden touch on your skin.

It’s not his hands, but it’s a firm touch upon your skin. In multiple spots.

before you know it, the touches are firmer, more coherent in your mind and on your skin--a soft glance of your eyes reveals the truth to you:

Shadowy tendrils, surrounding your body and all emanating from a space behind Cecil’s body. You can’t spare the thoughts to count how many of them there are, but they’re around you, some even encircling parts of your body in a soft, lukewarm grip.

Your arms, your legs, even one reaching up, gently stroking down your cheek. They almost seem to melt into the darkness in the bedroom itself, easily missed if you hadn’t felt their touch or saw the gentle glimmer in Cecil’s eyes--

Which have changed color. You can’t begin to describe them, but they’re different, a little darker perhaps? Yet they glow with color and look filled with a genuine, almost primal  _ excitement _ . His lips are still wide with a warm smile and, all the while, you don’t feel anything different for him.

Though arousal is certainly humming in the back of your head at this point.

There’s so many things to be said about the decision, about all of your decisions leading up to this point. Stopping at Night Vale, taking Cecil’s offer of a place to stay and then, in a mash of heat and emotions and things you can’t explain, find yourself in his arms and bed. So many things you can say about it all, but regret is certainly not one of them.

So you look up at the man, the being--your  _ mate _ \--and feel a familiar blossoming of wonder fill your chest at the sight of him so discernibly not human and yet...something wonderful. Something beautiful.

Something  _ yours _ .

“Cecil?” you finally say, tone shifting softly in question.

The man looks at you with a tilt to his head, the shadowy tendrils--tentacles, for lack of a better word--shift softly against your skin. They react with his emotions, either directly controlled or indirectly influenced, you can’t be sure.

It’s only when he looks directly into your eyes, when you feel a spark deep in your chest, as if everything in the universe has finally found the spot that it has always meant to be, that your lips move with words and want and soft perfection.

“I...love you.”

The entire universe seems to crack with the weight of the words. Like a key pushed into a lock, like the last piece of the puzzle put into place, like everything that was meant to be finally  _ is _ . You could barely describe the look in Cecil’s eyes before, but now they’re  _ completely _ beyond anything you’ve ever seen. 

His entire body is beyond comprehension, his aura powerful and presence heavy with everything from warmth and comfort to awe and joy. You see a visual flicker over his face, from human to something so entirely  _ not _ human, though his eyes are the same. They’re beautiful.

They’re perfect.

Though you know that Cecil responds with the same words and feelings as you, but the former is lost as his face leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. It leaves you breathless and mind swimming in something that lies beyond reality--no, it’s outright like something of a dream.

A familiar dream.

“I love you, I love you,  _ I love you, _ ” The words hum against your mouth as Cecil speaks, body moving and hips shifting against yours at a strong, but even pace. “My mate, my darling, my everything--I finally have you.”

He fucks you eagerly, practically rutting his hips against yours and driving his cock beautifully deep within your body. Every nerve lights up with pleasure--you’re tired and sore from so many orgasms already, but gods above if you didn’t want for just one more. You feel those tendrils wrap tight around you, as if holding you in just the same way as the rest of Cecil does.

But what makes you wail is when one of the shapes move its way between you and Cecil’s bodies, slide until it can wrap firmly around your cock and start pumping you to the tune of the man’s thrusting. 

A cry escapes you, though it’s muffled by another kiss and, after a moment, you feel Cecil’s other hand search out for yours.

Both of your hands are pressed, fingers interlocked with his, the romantic gesture not lost even as you feel yourself near-overwhelmed with the touch of shadows and the pleasure of his cock opening you up and pressing you towards a final orgasm.

Cecil whispers sweet words against your lips. Though their sounds are lost into the heat of the moment, their meaning is not--they sit on your heart and in your thoughts, mixed into the chaos that is otherwise your current state of being--

And then--

With your hands joined and your lips pressed together in desperation and want--

You feel yourself come utterly undone.

* * *

When your thoughts finally come back to you, it’s morning. There’s sunlight gently filtering through a nearby window, cutting past a half-drawn curtain. You squint your eyes at the brightness and, after a moment, sit yourself up.

Memories slowly filter back into your mind at the same pace as the ache in your lower back and body. It’s not a horrible pain by any means, but it certainly serves to make your memories solid, more real when there’s something to connect them.

You glance around you when you realize that there’s not a second body laying beside you, though there is a soft warmth hiding on the mattress--someone laying there at least somewhat recently.

As if on queue, you hear footsteps approaching the room.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you earlier,” comes Cecil’s now-familiar voice, soft in tone, just moments after he steps into the room. “You looked really peaceful and I didn’t want to disturb you.” You look at him, dressed only in sleeping pants and holding two mugs. The man smiles, notices your look and sits on the bed beside you, holding out one of them. “Coffee?”

You blink, but take the warm drink between your hands.

“Thank you.”

For a few moments, there is merely silence between you. Cecil sips at his coffee and looks off into the space of the room, leaving you to stare down into the surface of the drink in your hands. It’s morning, the sun is up, which means your car is probably topped-off with gas.

Which means, technically speaking, you could leave.

You could drive away from Night Vale, perhaps even act as if you had never found it in the first place. You  _ could _ return to your home and pretend that your encounter in the strange town with an equally strange man was nothing more than a fever dream, stricken solely from the many hours on the road.

But....you don’t.

You don’t want to.

There are plenty of things that you  _ do _ want to do, some of them you even want to do right  _ now _ and plenty of them you want to do with Cecil (or rather,  _ to _ Cecil). But leaving is simply not one of them. For the first time in a long time, perhaps even in your entire life, you feel safe and comfortable and so very at home. It’s as if you’ve found the spot you are meant to be, with a person you’re meant to love.

Maybe logic isn’t meant to work in Night Vale. Maybe, just maybe, the town isn’t  _ supposed _ to make any sense--perhaps it is how it simply is, a fact of life that doesn’t need explanation or reason. Perhaps….perhaps you could get used to that, maybe even call it home in word as much as it is in feeling.

You don’t know if Cecil can read your thoughts. With what you saw and heard and most definitely  _ felt _ of the man, he’s far more than human--you have so much to learn about him--so you couldn’t put such a skill past him without knowing for sure. 

Nevertheless, he seems to know what to say to comfort your thoughts and answer the question that you yet don’t know was hanging in your mind.

“...You know,” he starts, nursing still at the mug in his hands. “There’s an opening at the radio station. A job, specifically for an assistant. For me. Because I really,  _ really _ need one.”

The confession sounds more sheepish than anything else, like he’s been weighing the words for hours, perhaps since he woke up.

Perhaps for longer than that.

So you hold the mug between your fingers and palms, letting the warmth soak into your skin. There’s so much to learn about Cecil, so much to discover and questions to be asked. There’s so much to figure out about this town, this town where nothing and everything makes sense at the same time. There’s just so much ahead of you--but it’s okay, because it’s exciting. It’s new. It’s a life ahead of you with someone you want to stand beside.

“So, that job opening…”

You can practically feel Cecil’s still gaze on the side of your face as you look deeper into your drink.

“...where can I submit the application?”

There’s no stopping Cecil’s kisses as he leans towards you, pressing soft, excited lips over and over your cheeks and nose and lips and everywhere he can reach. There’s no stopping his whispers of joy and love that spill over your skin from his lips-

-and you feel the faintest, shadowy caresses against your back and legs and shoulders.

 


	4. DFAB Version

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the DFAB (designated female at birth) version of this chapter, which includes such descriptions of the readers sexy bits. If you're looking for the DMAB (designated male at birth) version, it's the previous--just jump back, there's no other differences in them!

Luckily enough for you, it doesn’t take very long to get a new shower curtain put up. You do have to stand for a couple minutes in the shower itself with the water turned off and your body still soaking wet and slightly cold, but Cecil doesn’t leave the air empty between the two of you as he rummages through the cabinet in search of a backup shower curtain.

“I saw you from the moment you turned on your radio,” The man almost croons, like a lovesick schoolboy. “Like everything I saw in my prophetic dreams and day-old coffee grinds; though you looked so frightened.”

“Admittedly I was running on like, next to no gas in my car,” you remind him, only vaguely recognizing the odd omnipotence his words seem to suggest. “I thought I was going to be stranded in the middle of the desert.”

Cecil lets out a soft huff, pulling out a folded lump of shiny plastic, most likely the new shower curtain.

“I would have certainly not let that happen, the only place the endless universe would have you stranded is right here in Night Vale--the vast desert surrounding the town doesn’t quite count.”

He starts to unfold the shower curtain.

“I would have walked out there myself anyway to get you if it did.”

Despite the slight red flag in the man’s words, possessive and dark in only the mildest of sense, you feel rather touched by it. It’s more than just the sound of his voice now, sonorous and perfect, it’s his eyes and his smile and his mere  _ presence _ beside you that leave you feeling found and at home despite having never been to Night Vale before.

Or at least…

You gently wrap your arms tighter around your body to conserve what little heat your skin still holds.

“You said something about this not being a dream, but you made it sound like it’s happened before.” The words are gentle, holding a question you’re not quite sure how to ask with your mind so muddled with trying to categorize what is real and what is not, what makes sense and what is enigma.

“Yeah, it has,” Cecil says, stepping closer so he can start hooking the curtain onto the metal shower rings. 

It takes a moment of waiting before you realize he’s not going to elaborate on the answer without a little bit of prodding. In this case it’s slightly literal, your eyes staring at the man until he catches them, mind suddenly flickering that perhaps you  _ don’t _ know entirely what he’s referring to and should therefore explain, if at least a little.

“Do you not remember having any strange dreams over the last few years?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that,” You say warily, though not without a little bit of humor. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not talking about the dreams where I’m naked in school and being chased by horses.”

“By  _ horses _ ?” Cecil asks suddenly, then enigmatically mutters under his breath, “-haven’t heard that combination of foretelling symbolism in years.”

He quickly throws himself out from whatever train has captured his thoughts, looking at you with a new clarity in his eyes and switches to clarify his question. 

It’s only then, upon the description and words and feelings that you realize that you understand  _ exactly _ what dreams he’s talking about. You can remember them faintly, like whisper in your ear.

_ Dreams of darkness. Dreams of being surrounded by nothing, but everything at the same time; dreams of looking out over the very universe itself and watching time flow by like a river, only to realize that you are not the only one standing there.  _

_ You look to the side to catch a shape, indistinct and familiar in the same breath there’s a color to their form and a feeling to their presence that you can’t quite describe or understand, but you know at least that it is soft and friendly and familiar. You feel a hand gently find yours, fingers interlocked, joined in a way that transcends physical form and the fragile forces of your perceived universe. _

The memory sits in your mind for a while. By the time that you come back to the present moment, Cecil is finished putting up the shower curtain and has already undressed. He steps into the shower and turns the knob, once more leaving you washed in the warm, soft spray of water again.

And then, suddenly at least to your perception of time and space and meaning, the two of you are just standing there at arms length from one another. It’s a far different air from what it had been just minutes before, when Cecil had you pressed against his chest and securely in his arms, a momentary reaction that had catalyzed all of this to happen afterwards.

It’s not a bad feeling, per say, just….one you’re not used to.

It’s not as if you make it a regular occurance to stay in a stranger’s apartment in a strange town and find yourself so woefully attracted to him in more ways than should be physically possible--so it’s safe to say the experience is rather new. 

It must feel the same way to Cecil, as his eyes are half-lidded, though glimmering in genuine, but nervous excitement. His hands lay almost awkwardly at his sides, as if he’s waiting for something.

Waiting for permission.

And there’s something about that gesture, or lack thereof, that really catches your attention. It draws you out of your mind and back into the moment, into the reality surrounding you. It’s as if, in that very breath, that very visage of Cecil standing there and waiting for your permission--it’s like the final puzzle piece settles into place.

Feelings of calm gently fall over your thoughts and you, so carefully, close the gap between your bodies and press another kiss to the man’s waiting lips.

There’s a discernible shift in the air as your hands find his skin, lay over his shoulders and arms eventually wrap around his neck. Though there is still warmth and comfort hanging in the gaze of your eyes, there is something new and exciting: hunger. Need. Want.

One moment you and Cecil are sharing a chaste kiss beneath the spray of the shower, and the next you’re pressed back and gently manhandled off your feet and into his arms. There’s a mild shock of cold tiles against your shoulder blades though it doesn’t distract you from moving the way Cecil wants--your legs around his waist and grinding your hips to his.

The man rumbles with a groan that barely cuts through the white noise of falling water.

“This okay?” 

The words themselves are a bit hard to make out when his mouth is otherwise against your throat, nipping at sensitive skin.

“Yeah.” 

The answer is simple and short, little more than a hiss; you can hardly keep your thoughts together long enough to offer anything longer than that. You’re already surrounded by him, by warm familiarity that you couldn’t quite put a finger on until now--like you’re meant to be here.

For a few minutes, you delight yourself simply on the feeling of Cecil’s mouth on your throat and his hands on your hips, holding you surprisingly still despite the fact that his cock is plenty hard against you, against the lips of your cunt--all it would take is just a gentle wiggle of your hips and-

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Cecil curses, trying to muffle the word with teeth against your shoulder. “Fuck,  _ fuuuck _ .”

A shiver of arousal slips down your spine from how the man’s voice wraps around the word, making it sound so much filthier when it’s in the deep tone you’ve so quickly come to associate him with. It feels almost  _ earned _ to spill from Cecil’s lips, only encouraging you to move your hips harder, grind yourself wetly against him. The motion alone is enough to spark further need in your belly from just the way it feels to have such a hot, hard shape against you, dipping between your lower lips and almost wonderfully rubbing against your clit.

“You’re making it very hard to go  _ slowly _ .” 

You feel the words vibrate against your shoulder and then mischief sneak in your mind.

“Who says I want to go slowly?” You use the leverage of your legs around Cecil’s body to tug and keep him against you, bodies flush from chest to hip. “Maybe I want you to fuck me  _ now. _ ”

The pressure and heat, combined with the water, the cold tiles--it all makes a moan work up your throat, make you start to wonder more about what Cecil would feel like  _ inside you _ \--is he normally a gentle lover? Or is this merely an exception for the situation at hand?

You hear Cecil chuckle against your skin regardless, feel his fingers press harder into the gentle curve of your hips.

“And here I was being considerate of your stamina.”

The words and his voice is so playful, so genuinely light-hearted--it brings a sense of ease into the moment, to break up the weight of what could so easily just be a one-night stand, a forgotten night between the two of you (even though you know in the back of your mind that’s not true). Cecil finally moves in tandem with you, his hips rolling in gentle motions, meeting each thrust so that both of you are pressing the hard shape of his need to your heat  in a delicious moment of simple euphoria.

“My stamina?” You ask, expression briefly surprised, if only by the unspoken measure behind his words of what seemed to be genuine concern for you. “You don’t need to worry about that--I’ll keep going as long as you can, big boy.”

Your eyes meet with Cecil’s after the last word leaves you, something unspoken and mysterious hiding within that look of his. It’s a glimmer, a flicker of  _ something _ you can’t place, something that makes you wonder if there’s something wrong to what you’ve said. 

But the moment passes quickly, if only because Cecil breaks the locked gaze by dipping his face to your throat again and pressing surprisingly-gentle kisses across your skin.

“It’s bad to make promises you can’t keep.”

You only half-hear them, losing focus beyond the word ‘promises’ because you suddenly feel one of Cecil’s hands coming down between your bodies, gently sneaking between the press of your chests and hips--his thumb eventually dips between your labia and finds your clit with ease, pressing little circles over the bundle of nerves and making you gasp.

“C-Cecil!” 

The sound is only barely a name, twisted up inside of a moan that you can’t muffle fast enough.

Cecil’s hand moves in tandem with his hips, rising and falling so evenly that it’s difficult to parse all the little details of sensation moving through your head. There’s the thick fog of the shower, the heat of your bodies, the tickle of lips on your shoulder and the delicious, rolling pleasure of his cock against you, this thumb moving mercilessly over your clit.

It honestly doesn’t take him more than a few minutes to work an orgasm from you. Between the kiss and the heat of your bodies, you’ve been teetering happily on the edge since the moment Cecil lifted you into his arms.

Though you had joked about not wanting to take things slow, there was something more to be desired in the moment than but a quick orgasm in the shower. It seemed outright illegal not to take the opportunity to the fullest and most filthy, especially with how Cecil looks at you, eyes darkened with want to a degree you can scarcely understand.

It doesn’t matter though--you cum with a shout, scratching your fingers against the other’s back and feeling yourself ache and squeeze around  _ nothing _ . The sensation in itself almost makes you needier, crave something inside you.

The moment doesn’t last for more than a few breaths, gasping and sharp, and left you feeling flushed and only wanting  _ more _ . 

You search for Cecil's eyes and, true to his jesting a few minutes before, there’s a look of hunger in them. Though the two of you are still parsing through the after-effects of orgasm it's not subtle so see that he is nowhere near being finished with you.

Oh, not even close.

* * *

The water starts to run cold by the time the two of you think to leave the no-longer-comfort of the shower. Though the spray is barely lukewarm, it’s nice to rinse yourself off once more before finally stepping out, legs still wobbly from your momentary, orgasmic high but a few minutes before. The water is shut off without much of a thought, Cecil barely giving you the moment to catch your own thoughts before he’s pressed up behind you, hands on your hips and lips to the shell of your ear.

He whispers something, but you don’t have the time to figure it out before his hands are suddenly manhandling you around to face him. He’s surprisingly strong, able to lift you without so much as a scoff--you’re little more than a featherweight to him.

Your legs wind themselves around his waist again on near-instinct.

“Getting tired?” He asks, far to composed for a man who’s looking at you like he is.

Eyes narrow cautiously at him, not wanting to play too far into his little game without understanding what he’s hiding behind that look of his.

“Not yet,” is what you eventually say, more of a sigh when he presses his lips to your throat between the words. “Hng, Cecil,  _ more _ .”

Maybe he chuckles, or maybe he even says something to tease you--it’s uncertain when the words and noise is otherwise lost between his lips and your skin. Cecil’s body shifts as he starts to walk out of the room, leaving you to cling to him in an only mild fear for being dropped. His lips seem to know exactly where to press, to kiss, if only to pull out all the softest noises from you.

And then he stops. Not the kissing, but the movement, pausing right in the middle of the hallway. Before you can find the will to question it, Cecil presses you back against the opposite wall, letting it take some of your weight--you don’t have to hold as tightly around his shoulders.

When Cecil pulls his face back enough to look at you, that little gleam is back in his eyes. It’s gotten darker, more  _ dangerous _ than before--and his voice echoes the look.

“There’s something I want to do,” the man says, hands resting just under your ass as if encouraging your legs to untangle from his waist. 

You blink, eyes half-lidded, but don’t offer any resistance as Cecil starts to slide down your body. You’re not quite sure how much strength it takes to do so, but he moves in such a way that your legs end up dangling over his shoulders and the wall behind you keeping you upright as you lean back against it.

It takes a moment for the intimacy of the position to filter, a moment where Cecil’s lips press against one of your inner thighs and his breath--so very warm--ghosts over your dripping cunt.

You can’t do much but wiggle in surprise, largely due to the fact that his hands are on your hips once more and stilling any movement you can try to make.

And then his eyes gleam back up at you. Another kiss to your skin, another exhale of hot breath against sensitive nerves--you can practically feel yourself shivering down to your toes from the power in his gaze.

“I wonder what you taste like?” Cecil muses, as if to himself for a moment. “Because you certainly look _ beautiful _ from where I’m at right now.”

Heat starts to bloom over your face as he laughs in that gentle way of his, amused perhaps at your reaction. You can’t help any of it. You can’t help the way his smile makes you feel so vulnerable and safe, how every touch makes you feel warm and--

Oh, how his mouth feels on you.

Gods above, how Cecil’s mouth moves on you.

There’s a certain amount of pleasure that can be had in dragging it out, but Cecil seems to rush through it all, going beyond teasing kisses or a tongue tracing the lines of your heat or tantalizing you with soft kitten-licks.

There isn’t much of a moment to follow the actions--before you can even take in a breath, Cecil’s mouth is  _ on you _ , his tongue pressing against your entrance until your muscles loosen and yield to his eager, wet muscle. The motion chokes any words from your mind, leaving you only to gasp out noises with little coherence attached to them. A sound like Cecil’s name hung from many of them while your hands scrambled forward, reaching out to grab fistfuls of his hair as best they can.

Anchoring you to him.

There’s no mercy in Cecil’s motions; you feel the eager press of his tongue, opening you up. You can feel his tongue moving and twisting inside you, far beyond that a cock or a set of fingers could ever accomplish. It’s so wet and delightful and  _ warm _ beyond all measure--so suffice to say that when you suddenly feel a vibration against your sensitive nerves, all you can bring forth is a sob.

“C-Cecil!” the word feels more like a sob from your stricken voice. Your back arches and your hips shift forward, though barely enough to change anything--Cecil’s hands still press firm over your hips to keep you still.

One moment bleeds into the next, pleasure muddling everything together until all you can think about is the man’s hot mouth on you, his tongue pressed deep and, for a lack of any other description  _ fucking you eagerly _ .

Cecil is still humming, still letting his lips send the soft buzz of muffled noise against you.

Another moan escapes from between your lips as the edge of a second orgasm appears on your mind’s horizon. It surges like a wave, getting closer and closer with every exhale, every arch of your back and every careful, measured movement of Cecil’s mouth.

You look down, expression tense as your lips try to form a warning.

“I’m about to-” your words don’t work, breaking off into a moan when he all but shoves his tongue deeper within your folds, leaving your body shaking and stars behind your eyes. “Fuck--Cece--I’m gonna c-cu-”

The last of your warning is lost as the wave of pleasure finally crashes forward, tossing you over the mental cliff into the waiting sea of euphoria overtakes you. There’s no words to be heard from your lips, only moans and sobs of need.

Though in the end it only lasted perhaps a dozen seconds at most, it felt like an eternity, a pleasurable eternity of  _ heat _ and  _ wet _ and a million other things, and all you can do is tug at Cecil’s hair and let your legs dangle uselessly over his shoulders, take every ounce, every shiver of pleasure that winds through your body.

* * *

Some minutes later, you and Cecil find yourselves in the kitchen. He has you on one of the countertops, the entire space so neatly cleaned outside of the pair of dishes sitting on the table in the connected dining room, the crumbs of sandwiches quickly forgotten for something to be cleaned in the morning.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” is Cecil’s lingering words, gentle despite the desperation in the air between you both. You feel them in your chest, settling so comfortably that it’s almost domestic, and can’t help but let the gesture fill you with heat as Cecil does with his fingers.

They are wet and slow and so fucking  _ measured _ , two of them slipping past the ring of muscle and drawing a soft whimper from your lips--lips that he all but captures against his own, swallowing up the noise with an almost needy passion.

It doesn’t take long for the digits to slip fully inside you, and even less time for a third to join the others--it’s such a perfect stretch, a perfect sensation of rough, calloused fingertips rubbing against your inner channel.

And still he kisses you, steals away your breath in loving, though possessive bite to your lip or the press of his tongue against your own. It’s sloppy and perfect in more ways than one, especially when you can feel the cold countertop beneath you, the flat side of a cabinet gently against the back of your head.

“You look so beautiful like this, you know” he murmurs into your skin. “Wrapped up tight around my fingers.”

Combined with the sinful things his digits are managing to do inside you, you’re at a loss not just for words, but the concept of language as a whole.

Something that vaguely resembles Cecil’s name tries to work its way from your mouth, though its stopped continuously by your partner’s mouth still kissing you, muffled and happily drank with little more than a joyous hum in response.

Everything is spiralling. You feel like you can barely hold on and, honestly, you don’t even want to anymore--you hadn’t wanted to since the moment Cecil stepped into the shower with you. The two of you are simply two needy souls searching for union together, a level of utter completeness and exhaustion that only such a strenuous intimacy can bring.

It feels so  _ right _ to you, like you’re making up for so many lost years, so many lonely nights, so many half-forgotten dreams.

And then you orgasm for the third time that evening, muscles rhythmically squeezing around his fingers--he milks out every little drop of pleasure from you.

* * *

You barely made it to the bedroom before the two of you were eagerly clawing for round four. Literally. Cecil has you in his arms again, legs wrapped tight around his waist and arms around his neck.

“I need to  _ have _ you,” the man can barely say between each of the wet, needy kisses over your shoulder. “I want to be  _ inside _ of you right now.”

“Then do it,” is what you say, words unfiltered from the desperate thoughts rolling through your mind. “Just fuck me against the wall.”

Neither of you were going to argue about it, logic and reason and sense tossed completely out the window despite there being a perfectly good bed only a few steps away. You were equally happy not to question the level of upper-body strength that Cecil possesses, if only because he’s been able to carry you around with ease for at least the past hour between rooms and, admittedly, sex positions.

There’s little hesitation as Cecil presses you against the wall, hips shifting so he can press eagerly against your entrance. You shut your eyes in what must be instinct, but open them again when you don’t feel the satisfying stretch of a cock sliding inside you. 

Instead, when you open your eyes in curiosity, you find them met with Cecil’s own; those eyes that held such hunger and wonder and enigma--he looks at you as soft as a lover might. He looks you as wonder-filled as a lover  _ does _ . Your lover. Your mate.

“Look at me,” he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. “I want to see your face when I’m inside you.” He moves one of his hands from their spot on your hips, reaching up to delicately pull one of your arms away from where it lay over his shoulder; Cecil gently takes it, interlocking your fingers together with a soft smile on his face and even softer words on his lips.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

He slides inside you in all the span of a heartbeat. You’re already slick and open but there’s just something about the motion and the hands and the  _ words _ that make it feel like there’s so much  _ more _ going on--you can’t follow the man’s gentle command for long as pleasure all but scorches through your body and your head falls back against the wall. A sweet wail falls from your lips, Cecil’s own seeking out to kiss and lick at your sensitive pulsepoint.

“Don’t look away from me,” He says into your skin. “I want to  _ see _ my mate, my beautiful mate--” a moan cuts off his words, though their power and influence linger still on the air.

There’s something to his voice; it’s strong and comforting, but it holds a level of influence you can’t entirely place. Like the gentle aura you felt upon meeting him, like the comfort in the sound of his words on the radio not even a few hours before, you feel completely  _ surrounded _ by him.

Though you feel flushed with heat and layered over in tattered remains of shyness, your eyes finally fall to meet Cecil’s again, to see the pleasure behind that beautiful gaze and watch it ebb and flow and crash with every hard thrust of his hips against your own.

* * *

Somewhere in the fervor and heat the bed finally becomes a point of interest, another orgasm wracked from your bodies and minds tired enough that logic is able to peek through the lusty haze.

Cecil’s cock is still inside you even as you tumble onto the warm mattress, awash in the glow of orgasmic after-pleasure that dims more with every passing second. You have no idea how he can still be hard after all that, how he can still be gearing for another round, but you’re not about to complain when your head is swirling just as much with near-lovesick want for the man above you.

“God, I’m such a mess,” you laugh, glancing down at yourself for a moment, feeling the slickness between your thighs and the sweat clinging to both of your skin. “We’re gonna have to take another shower after this.”

Cecil grins widely, almost pridefully at the words--maybe even at the actions to cause them. Is that a gleam of possessiveness in his eyes?

Fingers are still interlocked with his, both of your hands laying just beside your head. You glance over to look at them, how perfectly your hand matches against his, how the simple touch in the heat of passion had left your heart buzzing against your chest.

Your eyes don’t move from the sight of your joined hand with his, though you can’t help but grin in tired delight. 

“You weren’t kidding about the whole ‘stamina’ thing.”

“Of course not,” Cecil chides softly, as if waiting for you to really  _ get _ it this entire time. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated to go for longer than you can--I understand that human bodies are easily exhausted with these kinds of things and I didn’t want-”

Wait. Pause.

“ _ Human bodies _ ?” The question comes out curious and confused, but not inherently accusative. “What do you...mean by that? You uh, say that as if you’re not human yourself.”

Cecil blinks and meets your eyes as you turn back to look at him.

For several moments, there is simply silence. It’s not entirely  _ awkward _ , but it’s certainly telling--an answer in its own right even as you wait for the man above you to break out in laughter and explain the end of a little jest or joke. 

He doesn’t.

It’s not the first oddity you’ve come to hear or see or experience in Night Vale, and you haven’t even been in the town for a full 24 hours. But maybe it’s the soft heat in Cecil’s eyes, the shyness, the sudden way his gaze moves from yours, the shift in the air to something soft and vulnerable again, only made all the more intimate by the fact that both of you are still joined and your bodies are still buzzing for one last orgasm.

And in all of that, you find that you simply  _ don’t care _ . Cecil could say or show or do much of anything at this point and it simply wouldn’t matter--it wouldn’t change the fact that you still feel so safe and loved by this stranger of a man, feel so close to him in ways you could not yet explain or understand.

“Cecil,” you say softly, hoping to get his attention back on your face as you reach your free hand up to touch his cheek. 

When the man finally looks at you again, you honestly can’t help the tug at the corner of your lips--hunger and want smooth your thoughts over, forging words that sound at least ten times better than what you feared they’d come out like.

“You know,” your voice starts. “You’re really,  _ really _ good with a lot of things. Your hands, your mouth, your…” as if to emphasize, you wiggle your hips, gently rubbing that too-wonderful pressure against your inner channel. Both of you let out a soft moan in response to it. 

“...is there...any  _ other _ part of you that you’re good with?”

Cecil looks at at you, expression blank for all but a moment. Then his eyes open, his smile widens and you can see the slightest flash of teeth behind those perfect, soft lips of his.

“Oh, yes there is,” his voice dips so low that it sends a shiver of arousal through your body. His tone, his voice, it sounds almost  _ dangerous _ in a way, a little unchained from the restraint he had been showing before. “ _ Several _ other parts, in fact-

-and I was hoping to be able to use them on you.”

You don’t get the chance to ask for clarification or even properly respond to the absolutely  _ sinful _ tone that Cecil’s voice has fallen into. Barely a single breath is able to work its way into your lungs before, in the span of a blink, you feel a soft, sudden touch on your skin.

It’s not his hands, but it’s a firm touch upon your skin. In multiple spots.

before you know it, the touches are firmer, more coherent in your mind and on your skin--a soft glance of your eyes reveals the truth to you:

Shadowy tendrils, surrounding your body and all emanating from a space behind Cecil’s body. You can’t spare the thoughts to count how many of them there are, but they’re around you, some even encircling parts of your body in a soft, lukewarm grip.

Your arms, your legs, even one reaching up, gently stroking down your cheek. They almost seem to melt into the darkness in the bedroom itself, easily missed if you hadn’t felt their touch or saw the gentle glimmer in Cecil’s eyes--

Which have changed color. You can’t begin to describe them, but they’re different, a little darker perhaps? Yet they glow with color and look filled with a genuine, almost primal  _ excitement _ . His lips are still wide with a warm smile and, all the while, you don’t feel anything different for him.

Though arousal is certainly humming in the back of your head at this point.

There’s so many things to be said about the decision, about all of your decisions leading up to this point. Stopping at Night Vale, taking Cecil’s offer of a place to stay and then, in a mash of heat and emotions and things you can’t explain, find yourself in his arms and bed. So many things you can say about it all, but regret is certainly not one of them.

So you look up at the man, the being--your  _ mate _ \--and feel a familiar blossoming of wonder fill your chest at the sight of him so discernibly not human and yet...something wonderful. Something beautiful.

Something  _ yours _ .

“Cecil?” you finally say, tone shifting softly in question.

The man looks at you with a tilt to his head, the shadowy tendrils--tentacles, for lack of a better word--shift softly against your skin. They react with his emotions, either directly controlled or indirectly influenced, you can’t be sure.

It’s only when he looks directly into your eyes, when you feel a spark deep in your chest, as if everything in the universe has finally found the spot that it has always meant to be, that your lips move with words and want and soft perfection.

“I...love you.”

The entire universe seems to crack with the weight of the words. Like a key pushed into a lock, like the last piece of the puzzle put into place, like everything that was meant to be finally  _ is _ . You could barely describe the look in Cecil’s eyes before, but now they’re  _ completely _ beyond anything you’ve ever seen. 

His entire body is beyond comprehension, his aura powerful and presence heavy with everything from warmth and comfort to awe and joy. You see a visual flicker over his face, from human to something so entirely  _ not _ human, though his eyes are the same. They’re beautiful.

They’re perfect.

Though you know that Cecil responds with the same words and feelings as you, but the former is lost as his face leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. It leaves you breathless and mind swimming in something that lies beyond reality--no, it’s outright like something of a dream.

A familiar dream.

“I love you, I love you,  _ I love you, _ ” The words hum against your mouth as Cecil speaks, body moving and hips shifting against yours at a strong, but even pace. “My mate, my darling, my everything--I finally have you.”

He fucks you eagerly, practically rutting his hips against yours and driving his cock beautifully deep within your body. Every nerve lights up with pleasure--you’re tired and sore from so many orgasms already, but gods above if you didn’t want for just one more. You feel those tendrils wrap tight around you, as if holding you in just the same way as the rest of Cecil does.

But what makes you wail is when one of the shapes move its way between you and Cecil’s bodies, slide until the very tip finds your folds, dips itself within them and wiggles gently against you, all of you, pressing against sensitive nerves and letting you press up and practically rut against it, to find another layer of pleasure beyond Cecil’s cock snug and warm inside you. 

A cry escapes your lips, though it’s muffled by another kiss and, after a moment, you feel Cecil’s other hand search out for yours.

Both of your hands are pressed, fingers interlocked with his, the romantic gesture not lost even as you feel yourself near-overwhelmed with the touch of shadows and the pleasure of his cock opening you up and pressing you towards a final orgasm.

Cecil whispers sweet words against your lips. Though their sounds are lost into the heat of the moment, their meaning is not--they sit on your heart and in your thoughts, mixed into the chaos that is otherwise your current state of being--

And then--

With your hands joined and your lips pressed together in desperation and want--

You feel yourself come utterly undone.

* * *

When your thoughts finally come back to you, it’s morning. There’s sunlight gently filtering through a nearby window, cutting past a half-drawn curtain. You squint your eyes at the brightness and, after a moment, sit yourself up.

Memories slowly filter back into your mind at the same pace as the ache in your lower back and body. It’s not a horrible pain by any means, but it certainly serves to make your memories solid, more real when there’s something to connect them.

You glance around you when you realize that there’s not a second body laying beside you, though there is a soft warmth hiding on the mattress--someone laying there at least somewhat recently.

As if on queue, you hear footsteps approaching the room.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you earlier,” comes Cecil’s now-familiar voice, soft in tone, just moments after he steps into the room. “You looked really peaceful and I didn’t want to disturb you.” You look at him, dressed only in sleeping pants and holding two mugs. The man smiles, notices your look and sits on the bed beside you, holding out one of them. “Coffee?”

You blink, but take the warm drink between your hands.

“Thank you.”

For a few moments, there is merely silence between you. Cecil sips at his coffee and looks off into the space of the room, leaving you to stare down into the surface of the drink in your hands. It’s morning, the sun is up, which means your car is probably topped-off with gas.

Which means, technically speaking, you could leave.

You could drive away from Night Vale, perhaps even act as if you had never found it in the first place. You  _ could _ return to your home and pretend that your encounter in the strange town with an equally strange man was nothing more than a fever dream, stricken solely from the many hours on the road.

But....you don’t.

You don’t want to.

There are plenty of things that you  _ do _ want to do, some of them you even want to do right  _ now _ and plenty of them you want to do with Cecil (or rather,  _ to _ Cecil). But leaving is simply not one of them. For the first time in a long time, perhaps even in your entire life, you feel safe and comfortable and so very at home. It’s as if you’ve found the spot you are meant to be, with a person you’re meant to love.

Maybe logic isn’t meant to work in Night Vale. Maybe, just maybe, the town isn’t  _ supposed _ to make any sense--perhaps it is how it simply is, a fact of life that doesn’t need explanation or reason. Perhaps….perhaps you could get used to that, maybe even call it home in word as much as it is in feeling.

You don’t know if Cecil can read your thoughts. With what you saw and heard and most definitely  _ felt _ of the man, he’s far more than human--you have so much to learn about him--so you couldn’t put such a skill past him without knowing for sure. 

Nevertheless, he seems to know what to say to comfort your thoughts and answer the question that you yet don’t know was hanging in your mind.

“...You know,” he starts, nursing still at the mug in his hands. “There’s an opening at the radio station. A job, specifically for an assistant. For me. Because I really,  _ really _ need one.”

The confession sounds more sheepish than anything else, like he’s been weighing the words for hours, perhaps since he woke up.

Perhaps for longer than that.

So you hold the mug between your fingers and palms, letting the warmth soak into your skin. There’s so much to learn about Cecil, so much to discover and questions to be asked. There’s so much to figure out about this town, this town where nothing and everything makes sense at the same time. There’s just so much ahead of you--but it’s okay, because it’s exciting. It’s new. It’s a life ahead of you with someone you want to stand beside.

“So, that job opening…”

You can practically feel Cecil’s still gaze on the side of your face as you look deeper into your drink.

“...where can I submit the application?”

There’s no stopping Cecil’s kisses as he leans towards you, pressing soft, excited lips over and over your cheeks and nose and lips and everywhere he can reach. There’s no stopping his whispers of joy and love that spill over your skin from his lips-

-and you feel the faintest, shadowy caresses against your back and legs and shoulders.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request made on my WTNV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/)


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